Marty Page #3

MARTY:

I don't know. What do you feel like

doing?

ANGIE:

Well, we're back to that, huh? I say

to you, "What do you feel like doing

tonight?" And you say to me, "I don't

know, what do you feel like doing?"

And then we wind up sitting around

your house with a coupla cansa beer,

watching Sid Caesar on television.

Well, I tell you what I feel like

doing. I feel like calling up this

Mary Feeney. She likes you.

MARTY:

What makes you say that?

ANGIE:

I could see she likes you.

MARTY:

Yeah, sure.

ANGIE:

(half-rising in his

seat)

I'll call her up.

MARTY:

You call her up for yourself, Angie.

I don't feel like calling her up.

Angie sits down again. They both return to their papers for

a moment. Then Angie looks up again.

ANGIE:

How about going downa Seventy-Second

Street, see what we can find? Ralph

says you have to beat them off with

clubs.

Marty makes a wry face at the suggestion.

ANGIE:

Boy, you're getting to be a real

drag, you know that?

MARTY:

Angie, I'm thirty-four years old. I

been looking for a girl every Saturday

night of my life. I'm tired of

looking. Everybody's always telling

me to get married. Get married. Get

married. Don't you think I wanna get

married? I wanna get married. They

drive me crazy. Now, I don't wanna

wreck your Saturday night for you,

Angie. You wanna go somewhere, you

go ahead. I don't wanna go.

ANGIE:

My old lady, every word outta her

mouth, when you gonna get married?

MARTY:

My mother, boy, she drives me crazy.

Angie leans back in his seat, scowls at the paper napkin

container on the booth table. Marty returns to the sports

page. For a moment, a silence hangs between them.

ANGIE:

So what do you feel like doing

tonight?

MARTY:

(without looking up)

I don't know. What do you feel like

doing?

BARTENDER:

(from phone booth in

background)

Marty, your mother wants you onna

phone.

MARTY:

(rising in response;

to Angie)

Come on over about half past seven,

we'll think of something.

(settles into the

phone booth, picks

up the receiver)

Hello, Ma, what's the matter?

PILLETTI HOME, LIVING ROOM.

It's a typical lower-middle-class Italian home, and MRS.

PILLETTI is on the phone, a round, dark woman. Beyond her,

in the dining room, we can see a young couple -- THOMAS,

Marty's cousin, and his wife VIRGINIA, seated at the dining

room table.

MRS. PILLETTI

(voice lowered)

Hello, Marty, when you coming home?

Where you now? Because your cousin

Thomas and his wife Virginia, they're

here. They had another fight with

your Aunt Catherine... I don't know...

THE BAR.

MARTY:

(in the phone booth)

I'm coming home right now, Ma. I'll

be home in about two minutes. Tell

Thomas stick around, I wanna see him

about something.

PILLETTI HOME, LIVING ROOM.

Mrs. Pilletti is on the phone.

MRS. PILLETTI

Okay, you come on home, okay.

She hangs up, braces herself, turns and starts back to Thomas

and Virginia in the dining room.

MRS. PILLETTI

He coming home right now.

VIRGINIA:

So what happened, Aunt Theresa, about

the milk bottle was my mother-in-

law, she comes inna kitchen, Aunt

Theresa, and she begins poking her

head over my shoulder here and poking

her head over my shoulder there, so

then she begins telling me how I

waste money and how I can't cook,

and how I'm raising my baby all wrong,

so she got me so nervous, I spilled

some milk I was making for the baby...

MRS. PILLETTI

She was here, you know, Wednesday,

and I said, "Catherine, my sister..."

VIRGINIA:

So she say, "You're spilling the

milk." So she kept talking about

these coupla drops of milk I spilled,

so she got me so mad, so I said,

"Mama, you wanna see me really spill

some milk?" So I took the bottle,

and I threw it against the door. I

didn't throw it at her. That's just

something she made up. She goes around

telling everybody I threw the bottla

milk at her. I didn't throw it

anywheres near her. Well, I was sorry

right away, you know, but she ran

outta the house.

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